48. THE FERAL HUNTER
Chapter forty-eight
THE FERAL HUNTER
"Follow me," Grand Lord Vladya called over his shoulder, before he rushed after the beast.
Emeriel hurried after him, his heart in his throat. Part of him felt a sense of relief. The beast had noticed that scent. He was going to hunt it down.
But Emeriel was terrified as he ran to keep up with Lord Vladya's long strides. Fear of the unknown gripped him. Oh gods, the slavemaster would reveal Emeriel's secrets tonight during the confrontation, wouldn't he? Shout it across the land so everyone, including Lord Vladya, would hear that Emeriel was, in fact, a girl?
He stopped to scratch his arm, as he'd done three times already. Emeriel recognized the signs of his approaching heat cycle early this time. He was about to go into heat again.
Head raised to the sky, he whispered, "Please, let it be a mini-heat, not a full heat."
Despite his racing heart and his hands slick with sweat, Emeriel ran as fast as he could, catching glimpses of Lord Vladya as he turned corners, still tracking the beast's scent. His training in Navia kicked in. If there was one thing Emeriel excelled at, it was running. He was swift on his feet.
He heard Lord Vladya send a soldier to the eastern wings to fetch Grand Lord Ottai. Screams rose in the distance, rising above the pounding of Emeriel’s pulse. Chaos spread like wildfire through the village. Soon, a small crowd trailed behind, their voices a loudness of terror and curiosity as they wondered where the beast was headed.
By the time Emeriel caught up with Lord Vladya, he was breathless, and they had ventured quite far from the fortress. They stood before a small hut not far from the tavern, where another gathering had formed. Grand Lord Zaiper had also arrived, completing the assembly of grand lords. And there, in front of the hut, stood the beast.
A strangled cry, laced with raw terror, ripped through the air. "What is going on—Holy Ukrae!" Master Boris's voice reached Emeriel before the male stumbled out of the house. The slavemaster’s face was drained of color, eyes wide with a primal fear as he took in the sight of the raging, panting beast in front of his home. Never had Emeriel imagined he'd witness such stark terror contort Master Boris's features.
Master Boris's gaze whipped through the small crowd with frantic desperation, finally landing on Emeriel like a hawk seizing its prey. "You wretched creature! You betrayed me? After I explicitly warned you not to?"
Oh, to hell with this. He was done fearing him.
Emeriel glared daggers in his direction. Do your worst, stupid fool.
"Fine then!" Boris raged. "I am delighted that everyone is here, for I shall reveal—"
The beast loomed over him, lifting him off the ground with a single, powerful hand. The feral ripped Boris's shoulder off, then the other, leaving the slavemaster's arms dangling uselessly.
The sound of rending flesh and crunching bone echoed As Boris screamed in agony, his limbs torn from his body.
Gasps of horror filled the air, faces contorted in terror.
Yet, the beast was not done. The slavemaster’s legs were next; a wet, meaty sound followed as they were torn from the torso.
The beast swiftly severed Boris's head from his shoulders, raised it high into the air, and let out a victorious roar, before tossing it aside. It landed with a sickening thud, rolling to a stop in a growing pool of blood.
The people erupted into screams, running for their lives. Their shouts of terror reverberated through the night as they scattered in all directions. In the aftermath, only the grand lords remained, their faces pale, their eyes reflecting the shock and wariness.
"We must fight the beast now. Let us shift!" Lord Zaiper told the others.
"Not yet," Lord Vladya snapped. "If it has no intention of attacking, and we assume a fighting stance by shifting, we would be provoking it."
"Lord Vladya is correct. What if our actions agitate it further and force it to engage? We would be endangering our people," Lord Ottai added.
"Do you two not hear yourselves? Why would a feral not engage us—oh..." Lord Zaiper's words died in his throat as he saw the beast turn and walk away.
It stalked towards Emeriel and stopped. A hush fell over the assembly of grand lords as they watched the beast touch the boy’s face in a gentle caress. In a move that defied all logic, the feral scooped the boy up, and placed him upon its hulking shoulder, then lumbered away. Back to the towers of Ravenshadow.
Emeriel held her breath, rigid as stone, as the beast entered the forbidden chambers and came to a halt. He lowered her until her feet touched the ground.
After witnessing the way in which he’d killed Master Boris, fear clawed at Emeriel's insides. A relentless, icy dread seeping back into her bones.
Before she could contemplate her chances of escaping through the open doorway, the first wave of heat contraction hit her.
Pain speared through her, dropping her to her knees. A scream, raw and animalistic, ripped from her throat.
The beast’s claws slashed at her clothes, shredding them away. This time, Emeriel helped, quickly pulling away the tattered remains of her clothes until she lay naked and vulnerable on the cold floor.
The door gaped open. Soldiers might charge in, the grand lords might return. Any moment, she might be discovered and her secret exposed.
Yet, Emeriel couldn’t bring herself to care. The dangers distant, muted against the raging storm within her.
Her traitorous body wanted to be mounted. For the first time, she craved it. Not due to the mindless compulsion of her heat but a deep need to feel him inside her. Around her. Everywhere.
For the last time.
To surrender completely. The realization struck with the force of a blow. There was no impulse to fight, no instinct to flee.
Worse, another urge twisted within her. To bare her neck, to offer her blood to the beast.
The intensity of which she wanted to feed him was terrifying. She froze. Where had that urge come from?
Instincts drove Emeriel, she dropped to her knees and presented to the beast. "Take me, please."
A loud snarl echoed behind her, followed by a nudge of his phallus. Emeriel waited, knowing what to expect. This time, she freed her mind and surrendered to the experience.
"It's okay. Do it," she whispered. A gush of wetness drenched her core, spilling out.
The beast entered her.
A sob escaped her lips. She felt a mixture of fullness, discomfort, pleasure, pain, and a sense of rightness all at once. Emeriel took his strokes, her body shaking.
The intensity of her heat gradually calmed to a dull ache. The beast's arms found leverage, one planted on the ground, the other digging into her hips. Its movements were rough and forceful, causing her ponytail to loosen, her luxurious hair cascading down around her.
Deep grunts of pleasure rumbled from the beast's throat. Its phallus pressed against her syren gland. Emeriel cried out as an unexpected orgasm crashed over her. She panted through it as the world spun, her thoughts drifting like leaves in a storm.
Offer your neck. Allow it to drink from you. Do it.
Oh gods...! Emeriel's eyelids squeezed shut, every muscle in her face clenched in a fierce battle against her instincts.
She felt cradled in the beast's arms. Protected.
The beast adjusted its thrust, driving deeper, and Emeriel sobbed through the pain. Would a day come when he would take her in male form? Would the day come were being in its arms would be purely pleasurable?
Mere pipe dreams, all of them. The beast would be killed soon. Any day now.
Tears filled her eyes. "It's okay. Don't stop."
This time, the beast didn't go searching for her cervix, much to her relief. Something in her encouragement seemed to soothe his agitation. As if it, too, could sense her surrender, her genuine eagerness to please. Something shifted – the tense lines of its body softened.
And when her second orgasm hit, a primal wail ripped from her throat. Her body, already a trembling wreck, finally gave out. Arms limp, she crumpled forward.
Let him drink! Feed him! A voice screamed inside her.
But you could die, Emeriel. Another voice cautioned. Your body will not replenish the blood; You're not a bloodhost. It'll drain you dry, and you will die.
Feed him anyway. You know you want to. You crave it. The compelling voice countered.
Emeriel whined, her knuckles whitened. A war raged within her. To give in or resist?
But you know you want to, a new voice, softer, whispered.
With a choked sob, Emeriel surrendered. Muscles straining, she heaved her upper body up, bracing her back against his knee for support. With trembling hands, she gathered her tangled hair, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. Her bare throat pulsed in the dim light, a silent plea.
"I offer my blood to you, My King," she breathed, her voice barely louder than the rustle of her own breath. "Take it."
The beast's roar filled the air, a guttural sound vibrating through Emeriel's bones. Its massive form trembled, whether in anticipation of the feed or a primal struggle against its own nature, she couldn't tell. Its head drew closer from behind, breath caressing her ear.
A searing pain began in her neck as a single, razor-sharp fang scraped her flesh, leaving a burning welt in its wake. Then, it sank in deeper.
A jagged scream tore from Emeriel's throat as blinding pain ripped through her. She gasped for air. Fought to breathe. Her nails dug into her palms.
The beast didn't attempt to penetrate her with the rest of its fang—just that one tooth. It drew her blood in with small, measured sips.
Emeriel felt more than heard when he came. Spurts of warm sperm coated her insides and trickled out of her.
A wave of pleasure suddenly consumed her, triggering yet another release. She didn't make a sound. She couldn't.
The overwhelming sensation held her captive. Her eyes squeezed into slits, a chaotic blur of motion, while her body convulsed repeatedly, as if she were having a seizure. Maybe she was.
It was too much. Simply too much.
Finally, she slumped forward. Her vision swam, shapes and colors melting into one another. Sound lost meaning. Her body, sluggish and heavy, felt like a stranger to her.
Aftershocks rippled through her, her vision going dark around the edges.
And just as her senses faded into darkness, she felt the fang withdraw from her neck.
That night, the news of the beast's escape and killings spread throughout Urai, plunging the people into terror. The savage way the feral creature tore through one of their own without reason intensified their fear.
Chaos descended. Males shifted, assuming their beastly forms, standing guard outside their homes to protect their families. Slavemasters, their faces etched with a fear they'd rarely shown, scurried back to their dwellings, their hearts filled with wariness after witnessing the fate that befell their colleague.
The high lords of Urai convened an emergency meeting at the grand high court, led by the grand Lord, to discuss the situation.
Meanwhile, Aekeira rushed to Madam Livia, begging the older woman to go with her to the fourth wing to check on Emeriel.
Madam Livia agreed without hesitation and accompanied Aekeira. Upon arrival, they found Emeriel unconscious, carefully laid out in the corridors, just as before.
With practiced hands, Aekeira worked quickly. Breasts bound, breeches pulled on, then, working together, they lifted Emeriel. Aekeira's strength strained under the weight, but fueled by desperation, she pressed on. With Madam Livia's steady guidance, they navigated the corridors and returned to the western wings.
In court, Lord Zaiper's voice rang out. "Fear gnaws at Urai. Chaos reigns, and tonight, we grieve a life brutally ripped from us." He paused, dramatically. "To save our people, the feral must die. Fortnight is too long – we act in two nights ."
A ripple of surprise washed over the court.
"I will commission the finest experts," Zaiper continued. "They will work day and night on our weapon. Every resource, and every ingredient will be ready. In two nights' time, the beast will be dead."